


Anything Less

by Daerwyn



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Abuse, Affairs, Arranged Marriage, Attempted Murder, Dark, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Forced Marriage, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Miscarriage, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, intentional miscarriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-23 09:53:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8323399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daerwyn/pseuds/Daerwyn
Summary: Your journey began with a stranger, sent on a mission that would bring any other man his death. And along the way, the more you learned about your future husband, the man’s father that was nearly four times your age, the more deeply you fell in love with him - not the man you were forced to marry, but the man that had been order to retrieve you. And no one could take what you felt away.





	1. Short Raven

The short raven had arrived three days ago, a simple message tied to its leg. Nothing more than a few sentences, but enough for your father to spill his wine and leave the dining hall in a fury. 

And it was not until later that evening, with you near asleep, that there was a soft knock on the door alerting you. You sat up, holding your breath, wondering if you had simply heard something in the hall instead, or perhaps imagined it, but there was indeed a knock. As it clipped against the door again.

“Y/N?” Your father. You cast the covers aside, reaching for your robe and covering yourself with your thin dressing gown, before unlocking the door and seeing your father there. He looked as though he had been in a meeting all day, though you knew it not to be the case. The tired look on his face was one of defeat, exhaustion. 

“Father? What’s wrong?” you murmured confused. “It’s the dead of night-” A slight thought wondered if the fabled force in the West had discovered this was where the last known, yet distant, heirs of Isildur resided.

“May I speak to you?”

You glanced back at the bedroom, where the fire had dimmed and the room was covered in shadows. “Of course, I’ll have Myrell get some firewood-”

“No, no, it won’t be long. That won’t be necessary.” You frowned, but nodded, stepping aside to let him into your chambers, and you closed the door behind him, moving towards your bed, before you sat down. Your father did not sit in the arm chair by the fireplace, instead standing and looking down at a piece of parchment in his hands. 

“What’s the matter, father?” you pressed when he did not speak for some time. 

“I’ve received word from Gondor.” Gondor? What could they possibly want? Your father had been sure to include you in every political matter he tended to, and tell you what he knew and his methods of dealing with any issue. But word from Gondor had not reached their small corner of the world for as long as you could remember. 

“And?” you prompted as your father’s fingers trembled, as if he contemplating opening the letter for you or not. 

“They are requesting a bride.” A feeling of dread pooled in your stomach. 

“Oh,” you said faintly. 

“Long ago, your mother and I formed a contract with the current steward’s father. Yet, near the time you were born, his son married and we assumed the contract was void. No hard feelings, these things happened.” You glanced away from him, your eyes closing as if you could block yourself from hearing the words you knew were soon to come. “His wife died with the birth of their youngest. And now, he’s reminding us of the contract.”

“If he was married when I was born, how old is this man?”

Your father released a breath. “My age.”

“No,” you said immediately. “Absolutely not.” You glanced to him and rose, fury building in you. “I will not.”

“We have no choice. They have threatened war if we do not comply-”

You scoffed in disbelief. “And go across half the world alone, through the Uruk-Hai infested plains? I will not even survive the journey. How will they know if I even left, then? It will be war either way.” He closed his eyes painfully, as if he had thought all of what you were saying before. “I will not, you cannot make me.”

“I have to, Y/N. If I do not, then they could very well make true on their promise and attack our safe haven.” The Northern Keep. The castle was built into the mountains, taller than a thousand men, and stronger than those men and their horses. Yet if the armies of Gondor were anything like they had been in history, they would be a force to be reckoned with. “Forgive me.”

You felt your anger leave you at your father’s defeated look and slowly sank back down onto your bed. “How long until I am to leave?”

“It does not say.”

“They will either send someone to escort me, or I will not go at all. If they want me, then they will have to get me themselves.” You took a deep breath, your conditions firm. “I will not risk our own men for some sudden interest in a two decade old contract.”

“Listen to you, sounding like a Queen.” You flushed. Though your father was Lord, and disputed King, of the Northern Keep, you could not help but mimic his own language. "That’s fair,“ your father spoke quietly. "If there were any other way… I would not.”

“This has always been my duty,” you answered quietly. “We always knew someone would ask for my hand sooner, with an offer we could not refuse.” He held his daughter’s gaze. “Sending the letter with the conditions gives us a few more weeks to all be together, at least. I will be able to say my goodbyes to the others.” 

“If he is anything like his father, he is a good man.” You did not wish to hear it. Instead you smoothed out your skirts and your father took the hint. “I will send the letter in the morning.”

He moved towards your chamber door, but you spoke before he could leave entirely. “I love you, father. And not even Gondor can take me away from home forever.”

“Gondor is our rightful home. I am almost jealous of you.”

You smiled wryly. “This has always been my home. I cannot call a place I have never been home.”

Your father gave a faint smile, before nodding. “You’ve always been strong-headed. Something your mother would be extremely proud of.”

“Goodnight.”

“Get some rest. Tomorrow will be a quite busy.”

When he left, you released a breath. There was always chance that they would find the offer of sending an escort too much. That they would decline and move on elsewhere. No one traveled in these times unless they were mad. 

Perhaps no one would come.


	2. In the Afternoon Light

No letter was sent in reply. After a two week wait, wondering worriedly if the conditions had possibly sent Gondor into a fury, your father sent another letter. In case the first had been lost. Or the raven had been shot down. Anything.   
There was no response to that either. 

To escape the worrying of your many brothers, and father, you had taken to having your mid-day meal in the fields at the valley of the mountain. It was a mere ten minute horse journey from the palace, and nestled on all sides but one by mountains. In the front was an excellent view of the river that led straight to Gondor. After many weeks of travel and an even longer period of detours should something occur. It was what made the Ered Mithrin mountains so difficult to get to.

But of course, you were not granted the luxury of going alone. Not even after you promised to remain closer to the gates that you would have liked.  
There were a team of guards behind you, out of your view, and even more off to the side, near the entrance of the valley. The paranoia was … frustrating. 

An army would be spotted days before it even reached the valley. 

But the lone rider blended well into the surroundings, with a green cape that matched the green foliage. And a horse that was as brown as mud. You did not see him until he was near the entrance. 

By then, your guards were already aiming three bows at the man, and did not take their aim off of him.

“Halt and state your business!” Ser Bolmark shouted from behind you. You had not realized he had gotten so close, and jumped slightly. But there were no apologies. Instead, you rose and watched as the rider slowed, pulling their hood off and he made eye contact with you briefly before glancing to the other guards.

There was a kindness to him that immediately told you that he was not a threat. He was perhaps the same age as you, a tad older, and his hair a yellow blonde that matched the grass in winter. 

“I come on behalf of the Steward of Gondor, my father. I was told the Lady of the Northern Keep requested an escort to Gondor.” He spoke as a solider, though a steward’s son likely fought in preparation for a war. 

You glanced back briefly to Ser Bolmark. “Tell your men to stand down. He speaks the truth.” You did not think they would send anyone. You were so certain of it, that you had found all the worrying of your father and brothers silly. Perhaps a new bride was … necessary. Urgent. With the death of the mother after the youngest was born, perhaps they needed a woman to care for a young child. In a courtly manner. Something a wetnurse would not be capable of.

“We did not think you were coming,” you spoke carefully, approaching the rider. Your heart felt like it was in your throat. Perhaps it had been a mistake to require an escort. You would be entirely in their control with no familiar face. “I am Y/N, the Lady of the Northern Keep." 

There was a brief spasm of surprise on his face, as if he was not expecting that of you. As if you were much younger than he imagined. You had a feeling that his father was much older than you imagined as well. He nodded his head in your direction, doing what you would assume was a bow if he had been standing. 

"Faramir, son of Denethor. Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien." 

You gave him a faint smile, glancing back to the guards. "Are there more in your party?”

“Just myself.”

Alone. You were expected to ride with this man alone? With no protection from any Uruk-Hai? But you did not say anything about your thoughts, as outraged as they were, and instead glanced back to the Captain. “Come, you must exhausted after your journey. I’ll have a room made for you and some food.”  
“That’s very kind of you, my Lady.”

At least he was polite. It would not be too difficult a journey, if he was polite. Just dangerous. Potentially life threatening. You did your best to give him a genuine smile. “It’s our pleasure. You are an honored guest of the Northern Keep for as long as it will take you to recuperate after your journey.”

“Thank you.”

“This is Ser Bolmark, the Captain of our Guard,” you said with a gesture towards the elder man. Faramir nodded his head in respect towards him almost immediately. “I trust that your travels have not been too difficult?”

“It was pleasant, my Lady. There were not as many obstacles as I had anticipated.” Which neither eased nor created more worry. You weren’t quite sure what to make of that information. 

“I’ll ride with you to the Keep,” you offered. Faramir seemed surprised by the offer, but all you could think of was getting to your father and trying to come up with another delay in the inevitable. “It isn’t far from here.”

An illness would be a sure setback. Either you could fake one or the Captain. But you would not want to possibly anger the Steward of Gondor, either. Ser Bolmark brought you your horse, a fine mare that had been trained for battle, before her rider had died in an unexpected accident. She was much too fine to be sent off to Orcs. 

As you mounted, with practiced ease, Captain Faramir was searched by a few of Ser Bolmark’s men, to find any weapons that he could possibly use against you. He had only a sword, which was taken, and a dagger at his boot. 

“Ser Bolmark,” you stated after seeing Faramir’s eyes follow the sword as though it was extremely important to him. “I do not think my life will be in danger with Captain Faramir. You may give him back his sword.”

“Lady Y/N-”

You sighed. “I’m putting some faith in him, Ser Bolmark. If I cannot trust him on a ten minute journey, how will I trust him with my life for a few weeks?" 

Ser Bolmark looked entirely ready to argue, and he likely would have, if it were in private, but with a stranger in your company, he would not put you in such a position. He simply nodded his head, passing the sword back to Faramir. "Keep the dagger,” you said, as you turned your horse towards the gates. “And give us a minute head start.”

“My Lady.”

“Ser Bolmark,” you returned.

He sighed. “Yes, my Lady." 

"Come, Captain Faramir, let’s see what the Northern Keep can do for you.” You threw a smile over your shoulder towards the blonde captain, and dug your heels into the horse, causing it to bolt forward. “If you can catch up!”

The blonde captain did not follow for a few moments, and you wondered briefly why not, yet when you looked back on the steep mountain trail, he was following. His green traveling cloak was billowing behind him, and you had a feeling that you looked no different. You slowed, so that he would not be too far, and when he met up with you, the trot was a very drastic change. 

It made the journey safer up the mountain, anyway.

“Captain Faramir,” you spoke cordially, but you could not stop the racing of your nerves. In a few weeks time, you would be in his home, and away from here. Away from everything you’ve ever known. “Tell me of the wonders of Gondor.”

“Please, just call me Faramir.” You glanced to him, frowning, when he continued quickly. “We will be traveling a great distance. And Captain is a dangerous thing to call out if we are ever attacked. A captain is worth far more on a spit than average person.” He hurriedly continued. “Forgive me, that was not appropriate in-”

He obviously had not seen your grin in delight. “Don’t. It’s alright. I have five brothers, all younger than me, and aching for the day they are allowed to battle.” He glanced to you, meeting your eyes. “Any speech, no matter how bold, is welcome. It does not offend me.”

“If bold speech is allowed, then… you look much younger than I thought you would.”

You laughed quietly, glancing down at your reins as you continued. Your gloved hands were very different than his bare ones. “I have a feeling that your father 

will be much older than I anticipate." 

"I am sorry. I feel as though you do not want to go to Gondor.”

You did not know whether to answer honestly or with something that would likely appease him. “I just hope that I will be a good enough mother for your siblings. I know nothing of children or homekeeping.”

“Why would you need to mother my siblings? I’m the youngest. My brother is old enough to feed himself, I should think.” You glanced to him sharply. “Is that why you think my father has arranged this marriage?”

“The letter said that his wife had died giving birth to… his youngest.” Faramir cleared his throat, glancing away from you quickly. “I assumed… there was a child-”

“No, no children. She died five years after I was born. It’s been a good fifteen years. Perhaps we both are not entirely as informed on the situation as the other thinks.”

Oh. This changed… this changed everything. Now instead of planning a delay, you were planning an escape. 

What could Denethor possibly desire with you, then? Surely it was not for… for a genuine marriage, or more heirs… The idea made you sick. 

“No,” you said faintly. “I… I do not think we are." 

You could not marry a man your father’s age that you had never met. Your horse jerked forward with your command, and you left Faramir behind, without so much as another word. Everything had changed now. Everything you assumed this arrangement would be was ripped from under your feet. You could not do this as Faramir’s father had likely planned. You would not.


	3. Spoken in the Dark

Your father was not pleased, with your revelation that a rider from Gondor had arrived. And even less pleased when you told him that the wife that had been written about had died nearly fifteen years ago. 

Yet it was too late. There was nothing to do. No other options than to travel. Your father had stated so. Even though he wished otherwise.

Faramir arrived a few minutes behind you, Ser Bolmark behind him with a grimace on his face. Your father rose to greet the captain, and your fingers dug into the wood of the back of his throne. 

“Captain Faramir. You seem to have made quite an impression already, and I’m afraid I have not even laid eyes on you.” Faramir’s eyes unmistakably darted to you, pale and flushed at the same time, as if trying to decipher what could possibly have happened in the three minutes you had been in his presence. 

“I apologize. It seems that your daughter and I may have gotten on the wrong foot. I said something to upset her.”

“And what exactly did you say?" Faramir did not seem to know, and your father gave a slow nod, as if it appeased him. "Then, no matter. It is obvious that you did not mean what you said, if what you said was offensive." 

It still did not make the news any less real. You attempted a smile to appease the Captain as he glanced to you yet again, but did not seem to succeed.  
"We did not receive any letter from Minas Tirith to notify us of your arrival.”

“My father felt that your response was enough of a warning. He had been hoping for an escort to be provided on your end, but I offered to go." 

"And none other?” your father pressed. Faramir dipped his head in answer. 

“That was extremely risky of him.”

“Yes. I suppose so, my Lord.”

Your father eyed him with every bit the disdain he likely held for the man. To take his eldest child, and only daughter, away to a land he had never laid eyes on. He then turned away from Faramir and glanced to you briefly, an imperceptible shake of his head telling you that it was something they could not discuss further. A marriage would take place with or without your consent. 

“Your father must place a lot of regard in you to take his future bride in these times." 

"I do not know if it was trust or a test, but either way, I vow not to let any harm come to your daughter if I am capable of preventing it.” You believed him. And your father did as well. 

“Good. Lona will take you to your chambers where you can rest. Food will be brought to you. We require proof, of course, that you are who you say you are.”  
For a second, no one moved. And then as your father turned around, Faramir fiddled with his finger for a moment before holding out his hand. Something your father had become with the growing presence in the West was paranoid of any threat to his line. But Faramir seemed to suspect that your father would not take the object. And he instead presented it in a way so that your father could see without touching. From where you stood, you could make out the outline of a ring. 

“It was my mother’s family ring. From Dol Amroth. She was the sister of the current king, Imrahil.” There was silence again, and you recognized the name. A princess of Dol Amroth was as high as the line of Isildur himself. She was ranked just as high as you were in desirability. “She gave this to me before she passed.”

“I see,” your father murmured. “How old were you?”

“Five years old.”

Your father nodded to himself, over and over again, as if he was answering questions in his head. You watched with rapt attention, silent. “Why has it taken so long for your father to ask us about the contract we made nearly twenty years ago?”

“I don’t know.”

The tone of his voice made your chin lift slightly and your eyes narrow. You didn’t believe him. Not about that answer.

“Well,” you father said warmly. “Then we’ll just have to assume there are good intentions.” Faramir’s face showed his surprise. And it made you believe him even less. Who was he protecting? Himself? “Ser Bolmark, if you could please take Captain Faramir to rest. He must be exhausted. Nolyn, my son, make sure that his horse is given the best treatment. We want her ready for the journey, after all, and at her strongest.”

Your eldest brother, just a few years short of you, gave a nod. Ser Bolmark grabbed the captain’s arm, and gave him a rough shove towards the hall, leading to the guest tower. Once he, and your eldest brother, were gone, your father glanced to you.

“A week is the longest he can stay,” your father informed you. “And then he will be ready for the journey back. A traveler like that will not sit still long when there is a duty calling him.”

You understood. You would have to say your goodbyes soon. And with your goodbyes, the last of your home would be in the shadows as you rode south.   
Yet there were questions still unanswered. Questions that would need to wait until you were certain he was alone, so that you could get the truth.

Your candle barely lit the path in front of you, but you continued up the steps that you had memorized by the first snowfall in the mountains - you had been four. A wiley thing that could not sit still with the desire to explore every inch of the home you so dearly loved. The guest tower was one of your favorite places to go, then. To climb as high as you could go, as quietly as you could, and listen through the cracks in the door to see if anyone was planning anything treacherous.

None of them were, of course. And even fewer were pleased to find a heavy breathing little girl crouching outside of their door. Your mother had been furious, while it still happened. And as you grew out of it, your mother had grown ill. 

You reached his door, your breath being held so that you would not alert him. Your feet were bare, cold against the stone. And your eyes were on the door handle as you leaned closer. There was not a sound inside. For a moment, you wondered if you had come across the wrong room, and he was placed in a different section of the castle - one that was more frequented and would be under watchful eyes. 

Except you noticed a faint glow beginning to form under the door, through the cracks and onto the pattern of your skirt. A fire had been started. 

And the door jerked open so suddenly that you let out a gasp of surprise. And the chamber maid gave a small cry at how close you were. “My Lady!”

Lona. You gave her a sheepish smile. “I apologize, Lona. I was just hoping to see how our guest was adjusting.”

“Of course, my Lady. Excuse me.” You moved out of her way, and waited until she had disappeared down the staircase, the candlelight not visible from where you stood, before you glanced into the open doorway. Faramir was standing before the fire, warming his hands, but he was watching you, curious. 

You steeled your nerves and cleared your throat. “Forgive me for bothering you so late in the evening.”

“I was awake. It’s no trouble.”

It was invitation enough. You entered the room, chewing on the bottom of your lip, and shut the door behind you. He shifted slightly, as if your action surprised him. An unmarried woman entering an unmarried man’s room - or rather you assumed he was unmarried - probably could have meant more than you intended. 

“I have a question,” you began. He stepped away from the fire, a gesture you took as permission to continue.  "Why did you come here? Why now?“

He looked like he did not like this question, at all. He turned away from you, towards a bag and picked it up. "Why ask for my hand now? What intentions does your father have?”

“I wish I knew,” he answered. The tossed the bag onto the bed, and you set your candle down on the table beside it, catching his attention. 

“You know. I know you do. I saw it in your eyes. Why do you come now?”

“He asked it of me.”

“But why?” you stressed. “I’ve been over it in my head for hours now. If not to help raise younger siblings, then why?”

Faramir sighed, and the cloak he began to pull out seemed to catch on a button. Faramir paused, glancing to you. “He wants another wife. For what, I’m not sure. But my brother and I suspect that… he’s not certain of a future for Minas Tirith. By building an alliance with the Northern Keep, we can protect ourselves.” You nodded carefully. “If he can produce a son or two … I’m sure that he would not mind the heirs." 

You blinked rapidly, and the feeling in your stomach, of sickness, returned. You nodded sharply, picking up your candle. "Thank you. I… That is all I needed to know." 

"I’m sorry-”

“You’ve done nothing wrong. A messenger,” you murmured faintly. Heirs. Children. You did not think of having children. You had planned your life to be Queen upon your father’s passing. And then to marry, for love, to produce your heirs. The Steward of Gondor was the last place you expected to be. 

The last place you had ever planned. 

It was not how it was supposed to be.

You knew that there was always a chance. Always a hint of maybe one day you would have to go away when a son of a King or Lord asked for your hand. Never wanted it, but knew it could happen. The Rohirrim Prince was one that your father had hinted at before. And a Lord of nothing but sand in the Northern Wastes. 

Gondor was at least something to be proud of, to call home. Gondor was more than a pile of sand. It was an ancient stronghold. An ancient family birthright. You pulled yourself together enough to give him a more firm nod. “Thank you.”

“Lady Y/N, I truly do not mean to make you do anything you do not want to.”

“I just wanted to know why now.” You gave him a small nod. “Now I know. So, thank you. I can put my mind to rest.”

The presence in the West brought uncertain thoughts of the future to everyone. Someone that had to stare down the gates of Mordor every day… no one knew for certain if their lineage would survive. Securing it anyway one could was the best way to preserve the future of a line. 

What she would be used for entirely. “Goodnight, Faramir. Perhaps tomorrow you’ll see more of the Northern Keep and the mountains than this room’s view has to offer. But rest well. It does not seem to be something that comes easy on the road.”

“No, it does not,” he agreed.  

You dipped your head, your loose hair hiding your face and you gave another nod. “Goodnight.”

He was quiet until you reached the door. “Goodnight." 

Once you shut it, you willed the tears back. You would not cry. You would not cry over a man you did not love and a future you would not have. 

Even long after the candle in your hand had burned out, you continued down the stone steps into your own chambers, repeating to yourself the same spoken promise in the dark. You would not cry.


	4. Whispered Facts

You said your teary goodbyes the night before you were to leave, holding your youngest brother close and promising him that he would be a great man one day, and that you desperately wished to see that day. Though the more you thought over what Captain Faramir had said - that you would be needed to be a mother to children that weren’t not just Denethor’s, but your own, you feared that perhaps you would not be so lucky to do so.

You were given your horse, a cart full of provisions for the pair of you, and the understanding that at least a week’s worth of provisions was to remain on the horses at all times, should there be trouble on the road and need to drop the cart.

You hoped that would not happen.

Your mare left the gates of the Northern Keep at dawn’s light, your father standing beside your brothers, giving you a stiff jaw of strength. It helped you keep your promise. You would not cry. 

You would not shed tears on a man you had never met. For all you knew, it would be pleasant in Gondor. The south meant that it was warm, and there would be little winters to cause you a fever. And it meant being put in such a prime position for riding should there ever be a need to travel the area. The Stewardess of Gondor. Caged, yes, but at least there would be some adventure to it. 

You were silent, and neither of you stopped until after the sun had begun to lower from the highest point in the sky. It was there that Faramir, Captain Faramir as you reminded yourself in your head, dismounted before he approached you on your horse.

“It is best we rest for a while, let the horses graze, and eat something. Many have fainted in these fields, from lack of hunger.” He was attempting pleasant conversation, but you could not stop the rolling of your stomach. As he turned, you glanced back in the direction you had come. The mountains were still tall and rising as a background. And in the distance, you could just make out the Northern Keep’s valley entrance. 

You were still so close to home, that it did not feel as though you had entirely left it.

But the company you kept was proof enough. He offered you some of the sooner to perish food items, fruits. You accepted with a small dip of your head, glanced around you once more to survey where you were, and seated yourself on the ground. Your legs ached from the horse, and your gloved hands were sweaty, and sore, but you still said nothing.

Perhaps it was out of spite. You were not sure. Perhaps it was because you had nothing left to say.

The straw grass under you seemed to cave and bend to make a lovely seat, and you could see that it stretched on for miles, until you could no longer see in the distance. One side was completely overcome with mountains in the distance, the Misty Mountains. And the other was flat for miles around until in the distance stood a lonely peak. The river that was near a few yards from you was your only guide.

It was deep and thick, and could not be crossed by the means the two of you had alone. 

“We will start to make our way closer to the mountains,” Faramir told you once you began to eat the plums in your hand. You glanced up to him to let him know he had your attention. “We could come across Orcs in the plains if we stay down here. We’re easy targets.”

Nodding, you returned to your plums. And he fell silent as well. 

It was not until you reached the rocky craigs, large boulders taller than some buildings you had seen were wide, were fastened into the earth, that he spoke.   
“We should camp here for the night.” You merely halted your horse, and he slid from his own effortlessly, drawing his sword to pick at a few rocks as you waited atop your horse for a final verdict. When he finally began to sheath his sword, you began the dismounting process.

Only he had other plans. He effortlessly lifted you from the horse, setting you on the ground with ease. It was… well, strange. But before you could even muster a thank you, he began talking. “We can’t start a fire. Too dangerous.” You nodded. You had plenty of cloaks and bedding packed for the pair of you, that even if it snowed, you’d both be sweating. “We can, however, burrow ourselves enough in this grass to protect ourselves from the wind. I’m afraid, farther south the grass is not so compliant.”

But first you ate, dried meats that were tough, but malleable once you warmed it in your hands. 

You had always wanted a life that took you on the road at least once. That would let you see the wonders the Keep could not show you in its shadowy realm of protection. Your father saw plenty when he’d ride off with his men, either to scout or to do battle, he did not seem to care. Either way, he’d return with the most vivid stories of the landscape around the Keep.

Mountains taller than the ones you had lived in made entirely of sand. The color so deep yellow and orange, it looked like the sun. Trees older than men themselves, with branches bigger around than some horses were tall. Marshes with water so acrid it would burn a man’s skin fresh from his bones.

Those were the stories you wished to live, and to tell, and to go on frequently. As Queen of the Keep, as your father had named to be your birthright. The eldest child, the throne would go. 

But not if you were to marry before then. Then it would be given to your oldest brother. 

Faramir did not speak until after he had pulled the blankets from the cart, not seeming to want your help, though you had wordlessly offered it. You stared at the stars while under the coverings that would do their best to keep out the night’s chill. It seemed more comfortable to Faramir - _Captain_  Faramir, than he was used to while on the plains. 

“My father didn’t send me on this journey because he cared for me more than my brother,” Faramir said after a few moments of silence. You glanced to him, seeing his brow furrowed as he stared at the sky. What was that supposed to mean? What could that possibly have to do with the journey to your new tomb?  
“My brother, Boromir…” Captain Faramir swallowed and you turned your eyes away from him as he seemed to struggle to state whatever it is he wished to state. “He is the true hero. He has fought valiantly in many battles, has proven to my father that he is an honorable warrior.”

You said nothing. What could you have said? That you were certain he was just as honorable? Though, you had never seen him in battle, nor heard him mention it once. 

“He has fought in countless battles against Orcs, and is an expert swordsman.” You tried to picture a man much like Faramir, but could not imagine what a brother of Faramir would look like. “He’s rode off near to the Gates of Mordor to take out an Uruk-Hai nest, and returned with only five men. Anymore Uruk-Hais, and he likely would have been slaughtered with them.” He seemed to remember himself, and he glanced to you sharply. “Forgive me those aren’t-” But you were on your side, giving him your upmost attention. And he swallowed the apology, remembering your words from before this journey had even begun. Any speech was welcomed speech. 

He chewed on his lip, before turning so that he faced you as well. “Do you know what an Uruk-Hai is?” You could not help but give a slow shake of your head. “They’re… mutants, unnatural. A breed between a orc and a goblin.” You furrowed your brow. “It’s like breeding dogs to be stronger. You want the strength of the Orc, but the speed of the goblins.” Creatures bred for war. “We do not know where they are bred, or we’d kill them at the source, but we do know where they all go - Mordor.”

Mordor. The sister kingdom to your betrothed one. “There are likely thousands upon millions of Uruk-Hai living in Mordor as we speak,” Faramir said quietly, almost sadly. “And while Minas Tirith is a safe-haven, the journeys past the gates are dangerous and often deadly.” He seemed lost in his memories, even as you watched him work through whatever it was he was thinking of. 

But he suddenly moved so that he was laying once more on his back. “Get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

You said nothing but furrowed your brow and fell onto your back, the pins of your hair hurting your head, but you did nothing to mess with them. You didn’t care enough to.

By dawn, you were awake and unable to sleep more. Even the littlest of light peaking through the mountains was unbearable. When you sat up, your hand going to your hair, where the pins had made your head throb, Captain Faramir was already loading the cart with his blankets. Your horse, tethered nearby, looked eager to carry the load and get moving. 

You waking seemed to be a surprise to him. “You’re up early.”

“I’m an early riser,” you said quietly. You were unsure of if he heard you, but assumed that he had. He made no mention of anything in return, and you gathered the blankets that had been both under and over you, folding them neatly and tucked them into the cart so that they would not blow off. Only one was left with each horse, just in case of trouble.

“You had best eat,” Captain Faramir advised. “It’ll keep your strength. Once we get closer to Gondor, there will be more game that I will hunt if needed.” Your hands paused in securing the strap over the linens. You glanced up, but he was already moving to tether your horse to the cart. “Though your father gave us plenty, so I do not think we will need to hunt.”

Indeed, your father had given you more than plenty. Provisions for any set back that could possibly be had. 

The horses did not ride hard, to preserve their stamina, but they rode long. And in the span of time it took to get even farther from the only home you ever knew, he spoke to you about whatever it was he could think of. Whatever he could tell you about his brother.

You heard of Boromir’s sword, forged with a silver coin from his mother’s homeland, and the iron of Gondor’s mountains. His own was the same. “The silver hilt, that’s the coin.”

“It must have been a large coin.” He glanced to you, a smile of amusement touching his face for a single second before it was gone. 

“It’s a silver coating, not pure silver.” Oh. You flushed slightly at the simple explanation. And you glanced ahead of you, the sound of the cart squeaking filling the silence that stemmed from the moment. “Though, no. It wasn’t very large. She gave my brother ten coins. And when I was old enough, he gave half of them to me, to share.”

“She was a Lady of Dol Amroth, correct?”

“Princess,” Faramir corrected with a nod. “I know next to nothing about her. Just what my brother can recall.”

“She must have been beautiful,” you murmured. He glanced to you after a second and your eyes widened at the implications. “I mean-” You cleared your throat, glancing away quickly, knowing that your cheeks were as bright red as dawn you had woken to. “I only mean, my father said that the leaders of Dol Amroth had elven blood.”

“A rumor,” Faramir said quietly, chuckling. You corrected yourself that he was a captain, but decided that it was little use. He had insisted upon his given name, despite everything. and it was perhaps easier. You could not call him captain aloud anyway, for fear of bringing a price on him. And subsequently you. “But, yes. She was said to be very beautiful.”

You could see southern features in him. Though you knew not what his father looked like, you could see the sandy hair of the shores, as your father had, passed down from many generations back of political marriage unions. And his eyes were so blue, they matched the sky midday. 

Before he caught you staring, you glanced away again. 

“To my father, my greatest curse is looking much like my mother.” So he had caught you staring. But his tone was pleasant, accepting. “It pains him to see so much of her in me." 

"How…” You were not sure how to ask, so you decided to speak plainly. “How old is your father?”

“Eighty-eight.” Eighty-eight? Surely he was joking. But glancing to him, Faramir was every bit as serious.

“And how old are you?” He knew you were asking how long Denethor had been without his wife. 

“Twenty three.” Two years older than you, by any standards. “My mother died when I was five. So… eighteen years ago now, which seems a lifetime away."   
He was sixty when his wife had died. "How old was your mother?”

“When she died? Oh, her late thirties.” You glanced to him, confused. “She was over twenty years younger than my father. Yet it was a love match.” You could not see how. “She was in her late twenties when they married." 

You could not wrap your head around the family any more than you had before. "Does it bother your father terribly, how similar you are to her in appearance?”  
“To my father…” Faramir hesitated, but seemed to come to some resolve. “I will not lie to you, and let you enter this match blindly. Nor will I make up stories.”  
“I only want the truth.”

“To my father,” Faramir said after a moment, nodding his head. Though it could have just been the way his head bobbed with each step of the horse under him. “I will never amount to the bravery of my brother, even if I spend the rest of my life trying.” He stared ahead for a moment as you processed that. And then he glanced to you, his eyes full of conflict, and a desire to prove himself. “It bothers my father greatly. I doubt there is anything that would ever bother him more.”

“How… how did she die?” you asked after a moment. “If it’s not too bold of me to ask.”

“You should know,” Faramir agreed. “He won’t tell you. And the safest place to tell you that is out here, where I am certain he won’t overhear me.” You swallowed. Denethor did not seem like a very good person. “She fell pregnant, and given how she is much older than many women that give birth… she had complications.” You felt your throat close up. You did not want to die of childbirth, either. It was a woman’s greatest risk, just ahead of a siege on a city. “There was nothing that could have been done.”

“And the child?”

"Too young to survive.”

You nodded carefully, your grip on your reins tightening, as if trying to steel yourself from a similar fate. 

“Since that day, my brother has been raised as the heir to the Steward of Gondor. And I have been put through countless tests to prove I am even worthy of the consideration.”

The words made you incredibly angry, for reasons you did not know. Perhaps because you and your brothers did not compete in any regards. Your father treated you so equally, you would take the throne before them, something that had been unheard of before his declaration. And despite how much you looked like your late mother, he would not let it sway any love or affection towards you.  
“How can a man that calls himself your father, treat you as if you are nothing more than a disgarded ward? A spoils from a war to keep a close eye on?" 

Faramir glanced to you sharply, and then glanced away as you continued. "How a person such as that even call themselves a man? How … Forgive me, but I do not see how any of his treatment towards you is warranted? You are still his son-”

“I wish I could give you an answer, but that is how it has always been. And, I suspect, always will remain.”

He did not speak again until that evening, and neither did you. And the farther you two traveled, the more you could see the beauty of the valley. Though you were careful to stick to the rocks protruding from the mountainside, you could see everything beyond as you reached a hill. It was where you’d stop for the night.

“It’s beautiful,” you admitted. Beneath the hill, you could see forests for miles in the far distance. And the river disappearing into winds and bends. And Gondor. You could not see your destination, but you knew the view in front of you included some of Gondor’s land.

Faramir dismounted, and then walked towards you to help you down, before he turned towards the view. “This is the best view of Middle Earth, I think.”

“This is only a two day ride from the Keep?” you murmured. “I… I did not know anything as beautiful as this ever existed.”

Faramir glanced to you, but you did look to him to see how foolish he felt you were behaving. You stepped closer to the hill’s top, and took a deep breath. The wind was harsh up here, and the dip down was steep. The water of the river behaved like a waterfall, almost. You could see the horizon, and the sunset in the distance. The wind gave a sharp bite at you and you shivered. 

“Is it safe to stop here? I feel like we’d be easily spotted.”

When you glanced to him, he was staring off into the distance. Where you had been looking. “Yes. We’ll see anyone coming, and the hill is too steep for a pack to get up here easily. We’d hear them coming.” You were appeased with the sure answer. Surely anyone that sure could not be lying. “Where the river curves drastically is where Gondor’s border starts. It’s about a week and a half from here.”

“And how much further until Minas Tirith?”

“A little over another week.”

You took a deep breath, and nodded your head. So close. You had not realized how close it was. You had not realized he went to the horse until a cloak was being put around your shoulders. “It’s best you stay warm, my Lady. These winds have been known to take a few fingers." 

You could not help but give him a small smile. "I feel a few less fingers may help in my case, rather than hinder.” Denethor wouldn’t marry someone with frozen off fingers, surely. But you gave a small nod. “Thank you.”

You stared down at the valley for longer than you perhaps should, and he moved towards the horses. 

“You may call me by my given name. I feel Lady is just as dangerous as you claim Captain to be.” He glanced towards you, a nod of acquiesce granted.

“Y/N." 

"Faramir.” It was an unspoken agreement. To be familiar with one another, and to speak frankly. To speak the truth. And he would leave you with any false expectations. It was the best you could ask for - to not be blind in a time when it was the worst thing you could think of. 

You sat on the tip of the hill, taking a deep breath of the crisp air. And you glanced back to the location you had come. You could still see the Keep, and the mountains, but it was shrouded by fogs and clouds with the altitude it stood. 

Faramir was quietly talking, catching your attention. He was undoing the bridled straps, leaning in close and running his hand along the horse’s neck. The tenderness with which he cared for them was touching. Not many were kind to their horses, seeing them as a necessity rather than a being of life. 

And yet he was gentle, easing them as they stamped on the ground from his nearness, even yours. He began to turn, and you glanced away quickly.   
But you doubted that his father would have ever shown your horse such generosity. 

So any whispered fact he could give you would be safely guarded. They were the only advantage you had.


	5. Comparisons

Reaching the base of the hill meant no longer seeing the Keep. Faramir seemed to understand your hesitance to go further once you realized that the next step of the horse would mean the point of no return. And so you both paused in the middle of the hill, and you turned your horse back to the way you had come.

All that was left to see was the spire that was carved of pure mountainside. It was said to have matched the one in the Southern Keep, Minas Tirith. But you did not ask Faramir if that was true. Instead, you held your breath and said a silent prayer that you’d see the Keep once more. That you would see your family once more.

That this would not be the end of your journeys.

As the hill was farther away, it was then that you realized that your grip on the reins had become so tight, you could only feel an ache in your palms. You loosened them, but it did not help immediately.

“Would you like to stop?” You glanced to Faramir suddenly. “You look upset. We can stop for the night. There’s no need to rush.”

You swallowed down the fear and sorrow that was likely showing on your face. There was no turning back now. “I’m fine. We can continue.”

“If you’re certain.” You only nodded and nothing more was said.

Not for another mile, where you found your voice. “My father is a very fair man,” you said quietly. “And he loves all of us dearly. Even my youngest of siblings. I’m the eldest,” you admitted. “And a daughter. But he never treated me any lesser than my brothers.” You paused. “I always knew I would have to leave home. To marry a respectable man. But I never wanted it. Though Gondor will still be my home, I do not think I will be able to see the Northern Keep again. My family may be high, but they are still exiled. And I will probably never see any of my family again.”

“I will make sure that that does not happen.” What promise could he keep?

“That is kind of you to say.”

“You suspected you’d have to leave eventually, yet you are your father’s heir.” Faramir said.

Glancing to him, you saw that he was confused. “I was the heir if I did not marry. My brother will take the title now.”

Faramir’s hair glinted in the sun as his horse slowed beside your own. “Does that not upset you? You have been trained to take the throne, I presume, since birth.”

“Yes,” you admitted quietly. “I advised my father on all matters, all hours of the day. Despite him still living, I still played a large hand in everything once I became old enough. When he was away, after mother passed, I would sit on the throne and deal with matters.” He seemed surprised by that. “You seem surprised a woman plays such a large role in politics in the Northern Keep.”

“I am,” Faramir admitted. “I do not know how it was when my mother was around, but I do know that my father finds… women quite inferior.” You had come to that assumption yourself based on what he had said so far. If he could not even treat his own son well, what made him treat anyone else kindly?

“I have always dreamt of going east of Long Lake,” you said suddenly. The less of how you thought of how unfavorable your husband would be, the less you had the urge to turn your horse around and bolt before Faramir could catch up to you. Your only hindrance was the cart attached to your horse’s rear. “Have you been?”

“My travels have never taken me so far east,” Faramir admitted, glancing in front of him. He got the hint well enough, it seemed. “Unfortunately. But I have heard that it is very beautiful.”

“My father told me once that the fields were so green, they seemed blue in the sun.” You felt the horse skip a step and gripped the reins tighter. Mayweather was never skittish, but she likely was nervous to be traveling so far for so long.

“Have you thought of going other places?” Faramir asked.

You thought carefully, sifting through all the stories that you had grown up wishing to be apart of. Sketching and writing about, dreaming of walking and riding through. “I know that there are many, but any forest of the elves would be wonderful,” you decided at last. “I have heard that they’re magnificent and enchanting. Older than anything left standing on this land but the mountains.”

Faramir’s lips twitched as you glanced to him, expectant of a confirmation. Surely a traveler as seasoned as Faramir had visited such a forest.

But his words disappointed you. “I have never been.” He seemed to notice your disappointment. “We will go by them, however. You will at least see them from a distance. They are the large growth of trees you could see from the hill, just near the curve of the river.” She remembered what he had said. If she stood on her horse, she likely would be able to see the very land before them. There was still a slight incline that showed them the valley ahead.

“Where have you gone?”

His tales lulled you to forget the aches of your hands, and your body, and as your horse followed alongside him, you could almost close your eyes and see what he described in such great detail.

Soon his stories turned into tales of battles that he had been apart of. Nothing large, but small skirmishes against Orcs. You did not mind such squeamish talk, intrigued and learning as much as you could should there ever be a run-in with them on the road. You did not want to be helpless - you did not want to be a damsel.

And then he finished with what little of his mother he could remember, before he asked about your own mother. And so that was what you talked of, until the sun began to set and it was too dangerous to go any further.

The cart groaned behind Mayweather and you tugged the reins before you took a deep breath and swung your body down. It was painful, which was the best you had to say about the movement. As soon as your body landed on its feet, your throat could not help hiss with pain.

Faramir instantly noticed. “Are you alright?” Your hands burned as you released the reins, letting them breathe for the first time since stopping for mid-afternoon meal.

“I’m afraid the ride does not quite agree with me.” You opened your hands to see the blisters that were angry and red on your palms, where the leather of the reins had rubbed continually for hours on end. “This usually does not happen,” you admitted, glancing towards Faramir as he frowned down at your hands.

“I’m afraid, my Lady, that you have not taken such a long journey before,” Faramir said quietly. “Forgive me, I should have taken more note of your health.”

“No, no, I’m fine. It’s just tender,” you insisted.

Faramir moved towards the cart. “Come, I will take a look at it.” You glanced to Mayweather carefully, seeing the horse was more intent on grazing than bolting, before you plucked at your skirts gently to step over a few rocks and make your way towards him on the cart. The fading sunlight meant it would be terribly hard to see. He moved a barrel of water out of the way, before he gestured for you to sit.

His hands were gentle as they took your own. You did not jump at the contact, as you expected it, but you were surprised by the smoothness of his hands. They were not worn as you thought they would be. He held one hand at your fingers, and the other at the wrist, tilting your hand better into the light. “They don’t look as if they’re bleeding. We’ll wrap them for the night, to keep them from getting dirty.” Before you could say anything, he was already reaching around you into a bag and tearing at a piece of cheesecloth.

He pressed it against your skin first, making it sting painfully. You hissed, jerking back. “Forgive me,” Faramir murmured. He glanced up, meeting your eyes, and you swallowed, the lump in your throat not from the pain. Oh, this was horrible. Self-loathing built within you. “I should have warned you.”

“It’s fine, it just… surprised me,” you admitted quietly. You glanced back to your hand, desperate to look away from him. “You may continue.”

He was slow this time, gently tucking the fabric under your hand in the dusk light, and once more over the top. “Where did you learn to treat blisters?” you asked curiously.

“When I was younger, I loved to ride in the valley in front of the city,” Faramir admitted, as if it was a secret. “I would not listen to my caretaker, and would ride barebacked. My hands would be bleeding and swollen by the time I returned in the evenings, and my legs would be so bruised I could not walk properly for days.” You smiled softly at the image your mind created. A young Faramir battered and bruised, but refusing to retire. “After my caretaker wrapping my hands enough, I had begun to do it on my own. I still didn’t wear gloves, because it was too inconvenient.” He finished with one hand, pausing and showing you his palms. Despite being smooth, you could see light pink scars from frequent wear and healed blisters. “They are not very pretty.”

“I do not think hands are meant to be pretty,” you found yourself saying, your voice scarcely more than a whisper. You did not know why you were telling him such thoughts, but they were honest. “They are meant to be used and worn. If someone does not use their hands, then why should they have them?”

“I think that’s a very peculiar belief for someone of your status to have.” You had to agree. Your brothers did not quite agree with your desire to use your hands. “But I think your entire personality has been peculiar in its own right.” His tone was light and teasing. “You surprise me yet again, my Lady.”

“Y/N,” you corrected quietly, watching as he tied the cloth off securely. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Faramir returned, glancing up. He was much closer than you realized him to be. You could feel his shallow breaths on your hands, still stretched out and resting in his own. But just as suddenly as you two had been caught in one another’s gazes, he moved away from you, a faint flush on his cheeks in the sunset. And he reached for a pack of food behind him as you did your best to hide your own coloring of your cheeks. You could not - would not - feel this.

You could not fall for your intended’s son. You barely knew the man. But you knew he was greater than the one you were promised.

“You must be hungry. It’s best we eat as much as we can.” He seemed to put a lot of emphasis on eating as much as possible.

As he passed you an apple and some more dried meat, you couldn’t help but wonder if he had been thinking the same as you just seconds before. But you took the apple, and the meat, and acted as though nothing happened. As did he.


	6. Slashed and Grounded

Faramir slowed first, and you did not even realize it until you could not hear anymore horse hooves. The sun was setting and the fields in front of you were a bronze color of a precise yellow that you could not associate with anything else. You turned back to Faramir.

The weeks you had spent so far on the road had caused stubble to grow on his cheek, and sun to tan his brow. You imagined you had much the same color, despite facing away from the sun for most of the journey so far.

“What’s the matter?” you inquired.

“This is the elven forest,” Faramir spoke. “We should camp here for the evening.” You followed his gaze to the forest to the left of them. It had a particular air to it that was ancient. With a thick dense overgrowth above and trees from where you were at that looked as round as entire homes back in the keep. Even from the distance it was unlike anything you had ever seen before. “I’m sorry we cannot get further, but we have no business with the elves and we would not be welcome.”

“It’s pretty.”

“It is even more so at night,” Faramir spoke. “It is when the elves are most active here.” He dismounted from his horse before offering a hand to help you down. Though you were capable of getting off your horse yourself, you took his hand and let him gently pull you off the horse.

Touching had become more frequent in the journey, though you did not intend it to be. A hand on the arm, a comforting smile, an understanding squeeze of the shoulder. And with each touch, your heart would ache. He was a kind man, kinder than any you had ever known. And he seemed to genuinely worry for you - and your impending marriage to his father. Falling in love with him had been the easy part, and spending so much time with him - every waking moment for weeks now - he had become apart of your daily routine.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

“I’ll tie the horses down, for the night,” he said in return. As he usually did. A faint flush on his cheeks, and he would turn and do whatever he had made as an excuse.

He maintained the professional distance between them. And you respected that.

It was not him you were to marry. But his father. And that meant that he would one day be your step-son.

Just the idea of being any sort of mother to him was wrong. You were younger than him, you knew nothing about being a wife or a mother. You knew nothing about marrying a man older than your father.

“Have you camped here before?”

“These lands are the safest of Middle Earth at the time,” Faramir answered promptly, as he usually did when she had questions about their journey and the surrounding area. “They’re the best place to stop on the journey if you are looking for a comfortable rest.”

“As comfortable as rest can be,” you found yourself returning in light humor. He gave a small smile and a nod. In agreement. Though he had insisted you sleep and not keep watch, you knew he lacked sleep because of it. And his lack of sleep was showing under his eyes.

Sometimes he was too kind.

They ate in the silence of twilight, listening to the chirping of the crickets. And the night was not as cold as the nights up north. The longer they spent traveling south, the less blankets you would need to cover yourself with at night. Tonight you sat atop a bedroll with a blanket folded neatly in your lap, staring over the field to the trees.

He was right. It was gorgeous at night. The trees glowed with a blue light, in spirals around the trunks, and in the canopies. It was unlike anything you had ever seen. And unlike anything you ever would again, you felt. It seemed Faramir felt much the same way, because he did not advise you to get her rest for the next day. Instead, he sat beside you on his own bedroll, his legs crossed and pulled up so that his elbows could rest against them. And he leaned against the back of the cart, almost calmed by the forest.

A faint song began to drift over the field.

“They’re singing,” you murmured.

“Elves are very artistic creatures. They place value in the arts.”

“Have you ever met an elf?”

“I can’t say I have,” Faramir admitted quietly. “But if I am ever given the privilege, I’m sure it would be a true honor.” You were silent, listening to the song lull you into peace for a few minutes. And when it began to fade, so did the peace.

“Thank you for showing me this, Faramir,” you said softly. “I appreciate it.”

“It is one place you wanted desperately to see.”

With the stars glittering overhead, it was the moment you wanted to stay in. You did not want the night to end. You did not want to continue on the journey. This was the farthest you cared to go.

But you woke without even realizing you had fallen asleep, and gave the forest of peace one last glance before your party crossed the river and could see it no more.

Minas Tirith was less than a week away. And your marriage was even less than.

You wondered if slowing your horse would slow the inevitable. But it seemed to not. Because the next thing you knew, you were three days away. And you were even more exhausted than you had ever been, with nerves running rampant.

What if this Denethor did not approve of you? Would you be sent back home? Or married to someone else in Minas Tirith?

So Faramir did not push for much conversation. In fact, he seemed rather quiet as well, enjoying the ride. And you almost let yourself forget the worries that persisted with the thoughts of an unfortunate marriage. If you were not happy, there was no annulment. If you did not learn to respect or care for one another, you were stuck in such a relationship.

Faramir jerked the reins, making his horse knicker and you to stop. You could hear what he heard in that moment, a sound of pounding on the ground and the barking of what sounded like dogs. “Orcs,” Faramir murmured. You turned to him in alarm, but he was already drawing his sword. It cut at the cart behind you, and your horse reared but Mayweather quickly rightened as you pulled her into control.

“What do we do?” you asked, your heart hammering. You could not see the Orcs as you glanced around yourself, but you could hear them. The echo of the valley did not give you a distinct direction.

“Ride south,” Faramir said suddenly. “You’ll take the road straight to Minas Tirith. Once you break the trees, you will see it and you will know where to go.” You swallowed. And he turned his horse around, facing behind you. “Ride as hard as she can take you, do not stop.”

“They’ll kill you.”

“Go,” Faramir said, and his head turned enough for you to meet his eyes. They were begging you. “I can buy you more time.” You swallowed and looked down at the hand he offered. But it was not bare. It held a dagger, held out for her to take. “Just in case you need this.” You had no idea how to use it beyond what you believed, but it was enough for you to take it.

And you held his gaze for a few seconds more. “Thank you.”

“Go,” he insisted.

You dug your heels into your horse’s side and were rushing away in an instant, the horse knowing there was danger more so than you could feel yourself. As Mayweather took you over the peak of the hill, she reared up and let out a horrified whinny. One that you found yourself mimicking in a cry. Orcs were down there as well, in the valley still covered with trees. Rushing towards you. Surrounding you on all sides.

You tugged the reins sharply back, turning Mayweather towards the way you had come, you could hear the ringing of swords in battle. Of Faramir in battle.

And the rushing howls of the orcs behind you.

They were foul looking creatures, with faces of monsters and diseased pustules on their bodies. Though you could not tell if it was pustules or simply filth. Perhaps both?

You could not help but go to the clearing on the path that you and Faramir had been on. And when he noticed you, you barely had time to pant out that Orcs were following before they were upon the group. An arrow soared past you and you jerked out of the way before it embedded itself into a tree. Wide-eyed, you glanced back to the Orc that had fired.

“Y/N,” Faramir grunting, sending his sword through an Orc before he rolled on his feet towards his horse, pulling himself atop it. You had not even notice him fall. “Come.” He jerked his reins and the horse under him began a hard sprint. The cart full of goods was forgotten.

You followed without a second thought.

The Orcs were following as well, though. You could hear them behind you, their wolf-like creatures under them pushing them faster than you knew your horses could manage. They would outrun you eventually. And when that happened, you were destined to fall.

“We can’t outrun them,” you called to him, the horses fumbling in the overgrown forest, but righting themselves. But each fumble cost you a few precious feet. Once more steady ground was afoot, he shot an order to you. One you obeyed immediately.

“Stay behind me.”

You did not need telling twice. As you rounded your horse around, you stared at the impending Orcs. At least five. And more than you knew he could handle on his own. And more than you could handle to save your life.

“I’ll draw their attention and you run. If there are more, you keep running. Don’t turn back.” Because he would not be here if you turned. You took a deep breath, but gave a nod. And when he gave the signal, you held your breath, before jerking Mayweather away from the battle.

You did not pay attention to who was making the screams - Faramir or the orc, but you made Mayweather ride hard. And despite her fumbles, you kept her going. The Orc sneaking up behind you was a surprise. The pain in your side that sent you toppling off of Mayweather was even more so. You let out a cry in anguish at the blinding pain that rippled through you, both with the landing and with the wound you knew to have.

It was not an arrow, that you were certain of as you gathered enough of your wits to glance down at your stomach. No, it was not an arrow at all. But a large gash from a blade. Mayweather made a noise a few feet away, and you glanced up as the sun was blocked from view, at the large towering figure.

An Orc.

Your hands felt in the grass for the dagger that Faramir had given you. And when they came across it, you clutched it tightly, before waiting for the Orc to attack. He did not disappoint. He did just as you had expected. He aimed to swing his sword and you thrust your body upward in a motion that caused you more pain than pleasure. And your dagger went straight into his rib cage, causing him to give a cry. As he crumpled to the ground, the blade falling from his hand, you fell forward, onto your knees, and sent the dagger through where you assumed the creature’s heart to be. It let out a scream of pain, and you released it.

Your hands shook as you pulled away, staring at the creature to make sure he would not come back to life. The blade was too far for him to grab from where he was anyway, but you still would give it a quick glance every few seconds to make sure it did not move either.

“Y/N!” a voice called. Faramir.

You were so relieved to hear his voice, that you exhaled, the fight leaving your body and you collapsed back onto the earth. Horse hooves pounded onto the ground and you took a deep breath before glancing down to your side.

Your gray gown was crimson and sticky. There was too much blood to be normal. The more you stared at the wound, the more you felt dizzy. Footsteps crunched in the grass, and even more sounded behind you. You were about to turn when suddenly a blade flew over your head and into a creature. A wolf-like creature that you had not even considered remembering what had happened to.

But before you could think much more on what else you had missed, your eyes darted to the wound again. Faramir’s hands took your shoulder, opening your chest more so that he could see the extent of the damage on your side. “Y/N,” he breathed.

“I didn’t even hear him coming,” you murmured. ”It was so sudden.”

“We are too far from the cart to leave you here while I go back for supplies,” Faramir said quietly. He assessed the wound some more, one of his hands pulling at the fabric of the dress to see the extent of the flesh break. It felt agonizing, but she did not cry out. For some reason, she could not. It did not seem like the proper thing to do. “We’re three days from the Keep… I… I can try to bind it but-”

“I trust you,” you murmured. Your eyes felt heavy.

“We will have to ride through the night to make it,” Faramir spoke urgently. “Or the wounds will fester. We will make it to Minas Tirith. That I promise you. You will be alright.”

“I trust you,” you whispered. And your darkening vision turned black as you slumped into his side, leaving him to care for you however he could in the wilderness with no assistance or supplies.


	7. No Return

He held you against him as he rode through the valley. The arm that clutched you to him, to keep you from feeling the roughness of the ride, was slick with blood. You were bleeding too much, and you would need to stop so that he could cover the wound once more. 

But they were still too far away. If Faramir waited too long, there was a chance that you would not make it to Minas Tirith’s gates. And even less of a chance if he stopped again. But you were slipping from his grip, and causing not only the saddle and saddle blanket to be coated in your blood, but the horse under it.

The farther and harder he could ride, the better, as it meant that there would be more distance between any remnants of the Orc pack and them. 

Each step of the horse caused pain to shoot up your side, so much pain, that soon it felt like a constant ache. You were certain that your skin was never going to heal, if you ever managed to heal.

Your fingers clutched at the cloth that he had pressed to it when you had woken sometime in the night. It was a dirty horse blanket, one that would likely cause more risk of infection than open air, but holding the wound was the best you could do to stop the bleeding.

Faramir slowed.

It was time to switch to Mayweather. The horse followed without a rope, trained since she was broken to stay at your side no matter the circumstance. No matter her own personal safety.

You hated switching. It caused you to nearly pass out in pain.

Faramir slid off his horse, a name for it that you did not know – nor care to ask. And he moved around the horse to help you slide your leg over the horse’s neck, so that you were sitting side saddle. When he came back to the other side, he placed one hand on your good side, and another clutched your forearm. He met your gaze, and there was determination – fear, panic. But most of all, a tenderness that made your pain feel numb in comparison.

“On three,” he said quietly, as he always did. You swallowed, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. He began counting. “One… two… Three.” You held your breath as he pulled you down, and cried out as your feet hit grass. He held you, not moving, and waited for you to readjust. Your hand pressed tightly against your side.

“We can rest for a few minutes, eat, and then take off again. We are less than a day away now-“

“No,” you said before you could stop yourself. You glanced up, meeting Faramir’s eyes once more. You wondered what you looked like – if you looked as wild as you felt. Your eyes burned with tears that you wouldn’t let fall. You had promised not to cry. “I can’t… I can’t go longer,” you said softly. “Is it safe enough here to camp for the night. To… to not move for a few hours, at least. I can’t…” To admit that you couldn’t go on any longer – at least for right this moment – was painful. But you knew your limits. And you knew that you had exceeded them. “I’m sorry, I just… We need to figure out how to bind it better with what we have. Or …” You didn’t know. “Can we please just camp for a few hours?”

Faramir released a haggard breath, and gave a glance around them, analyzing the trees, in the distance, that they had finally exited, and then the fields around them. “This is common orc crossing to Mordor. I’d feel better to get at least one more leg to the city, away from the river, but… we’ll camp.” You nearly collapsed into him with relief.

“Thank you.” The relief couldn’t be expressed with just those two words, but Faramir gave you a tense smile. “Just… just for a few hours, I swear. I just need to sit for a minute without the movement.” Faramir nodded, and helped you down to the ground. You didn’t dare try to walk. You weren’t quite sure how you were going to get off of the ground now that you were sitting, but that was a problem for when it was time to leave.

Angling yourself towards the moonlight, you pulled at the piece of horse blanket, and winced at the sight of the wound. It was ghastly. A sword, Faramir had said. He knelt beside you, gently moving pieces of your ruined dress so that he could see it better. “Let’s clean it with some water,” Faramir said softly towards you, but his voice didn’t carry much, “And then we’ll empty a bag of rations, have that to eat, and use it to wrap. The leather should stick to your skin and prevent bleeding.”

It was the best option you had.

He moved towards Mayweather, grazing, and began pulling a few bags off of her back, so that the horse could rest, as his own was doing. Exhausted. But he was once more at your side with a container of water at the ready, holding it to you to drink. You did, grateful for it, and closed your eyes, clenching your fingers into the grass as you waited for the pain.

You were not disappointed. The water touching the wound made you cry out before you stifled it with your teeth biting into your tongue. But cleaned of the dried blood, and allowing the wound to be seen for what exactly it was, Faramir could see it better to wrap. And you could see your flesh.

It wasn’t too deep – as far as wounds went. You often saw wounds of men that had been caught in their watches around the Northern Keep. This wound merely dug into your skin, the very meat of you, but no farther.

Perhaps that meant there was a chance.

Faramir unsheathed his sword, and your heart caught in your throat. Was he going to end your life, now? So that it would not be full of suffering? But no, he used the rest of the water to rinse off the blade from left over Orc blood, and then tugged a bag, emptying the wrapped food onto the ground.

He used the edge of the blade to cut it into patches, for your side.

The wind blew, and you tensed at the feel of it against the wound. Gods, it hurt more than anything in your life.

“Why return to Minas Tirith at all, if your father sends you alone through a land that will get you killed?” you asked, to distract you from the pain. To distract you from the thought of dying.

You felt dizzy. But Faramir did not glance up from his precise cutting of the leather satchel. “He is my father, and my brother. It is my home.” She didn’t understand it.

“A home is a place where one feels welcome.” Faramir said nothing. But you saw his throat bob as he swallowed hard, like your words affected him in some way. “A home is a place you feel loved in. Is that Minas Tirith?”

“My brother is my family,” Faramir said softly. “He is the one that raised me to the person I am today.”

“Does he not stand up for you? Against your father?”

Perhaps that was too bold – too personal. Finished, Faramir picked up a piece of leather, and met your eyes. “He does not need to. I have learned that arguing with my father usually only means worse assignments. Minas Tirith is my home, because it is the only place I know. Just as the Northern Keep is your home.”

It was a fair point. Faramir gestured to your side with a brief motion of his hands, still clutching the leather. “Do you mind if I do what I need to, to place this securely?”

You nodded, not wanting to know exactly what that meant. “Would it be easier if I laid on my other side?”

He hesitated for a moment, before he gave a nod. “That would probably be best.” You were slow, moving, and once you were on your side, buried your face in your arm, your nose tickling against the grass. “Ready?”

“Make it quick. Please.”

“I’ll be as quick as I can.” It was the best you could ask for. He was trying to be gentle, but it didn’t matter. A piece of cheese cloth from some food was first pressed onto the wound, and then as it soaked into your blood, the leather was placed on top. The leather was heavier, and ached moreso than the cloth. You held your breath, groaning in pain, but didn’t dare scream. Here, so close to the woods, anyone could hear – including Orcs.

He worked diligently, using the scraps of the leather satchel to place food he unwrapped, and then using the cheesecloth that came from the wrappings to secure the leather to your side. Tightly bound so that it would not move too much in the rest of the journey.

You felt like you were going to vomit.

“Y/N?” You did not even realize that he had stopped working on you, until he said your name hesitantly. You took a deep breath, and then another. “Are you alright? Is anything else wrong?”

“I’m… I just need a second.” He was silent and you waited for the pain to dull. For your body to get used to the feeling.

Once it did, you carefully moved into a more upright position, and glanced down to the wound. He had used the tear in your dress to work on the skin around the wound as well, and that was where the leather had been fused using the water and blood. The bandages wrapped around the outside of your garments, your waist in particular.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

“I’ve learned a thing or two about battle wounds… I saw the dagger in the Orc. You killed it nearly instantly… it was a remarkable blow.” Faramir’s compliment warmed you. And you hated the feeling. But you couldn’t help but give a small smile in return. “Do you have training in swordplay?”

“No,” you admitted. “My brothers did not think it proper, even though my father trained me in most everything else. A Queen didn’t need to know swordplay if her kingdom was impenetrable.” Faramir raised an eyebrow and you flushed darkly. “Forgive me, it is not a kingdom, a … lordship. My father often calls it a kingdom … he romanticized the throne.” You dropped your gaze to the food, reaching for some dried meat. “It was nothing more than a ladyship I would have taken, but he raised me to be a Queen.”

“I can see it.” You glanced up sharply, meeting Faramir’s eyes. He glanced away, swallowing hard once more. He seemed uncomfortable with what he had just said. “You are a Queen, even if there is no throne for you to rule from. And I hope that my father sees that, and understands that you deserve to be treated with respect and dignity.”

“You think he won’t?”

“I honestly do not know how he will treat you.” It was more honestly. You watched as Faramir sat back, his sword going back into the sheath at his waist. “But I hope it will be as you deserve.”

“Me, too.”

After you ate as much you could, Faramir told you to try to get some rest, if you could find some. You laid back, gripping Faramir’s hand tightly as you did so, to help you gently fall onto your back. You did not care that you were in grass with no bed roll underneath. You did not care that creatures were likely crawling into your hair, or that your stomach was churning, trying not tbe sick on the miniscule amounts of food you had just eaten.

You closed your eyes, listening to the wind in the grass, and did your best to ignore the pain. Only then could you sleep.

Faramir watched as you drifted off, his eyes darting to you every few minutes before he would glance around to the horizon. His hand still clutching yours tightly, felt as your grip relaxed. But he did not let go. He could not bring himself to. He closed his eyes, for just a second, and spoke into the night.

“Forgive me, father.” 

Forgive him, for the way this woman made him feel, when she was not his to have.


	8. Loneliness's Manifesto

You woke at dawn light, to see Faramir picking at some dried fruits in a pouch in front of him, his eyes on the sunrise. You were sore, there was no denying that your side pained you more than anything, and in the brief moment of sitting a little upright, just enough for your elbow to catch under you, pain ran up your side.

So you had not miraculously healed overnight. You had half a hope that you would.

But your slight movement, and the pained hiss that you tried to keep from escaping, made Faramir turn to you. “You are awake.” You winced, but tried a smile as you pushed yourself completely upright. “How do you feel?”

“As though one of these creatures has put a sword through my side.” Faramir offered a smile in apology, for such an obvious question. He offered some fruit, which you took a handful of. “You look as though you have not rested all night.”

“I did not sleep for too long. It is still not safe here.” So they had best leave soon. You took a few fruits into your mouth, and then glanced to your side. There was not as much blood as there had been the night before. It looked as though your side was patched well. Not even the white of the cheesecloth was terribly soaked through. “Your bleeding seems to have stopped for now,” Faramir spoke, observing what you had just noticed. “The ride will likely cause the seal of the leather to open, and it will start again…”

“Is there a point… where too much blood can be lost?” Faramir looked grim with that question. So there was. And you were likely close. You did not know how much blood you had lost, but you still felt lightheaded and like a migraine was not too far away. You had lost what looked like too much already.

“You will fall unconscious before that will happen,” Faramir said softly. “You are not in danger now, but… you could be.” Not to mention the risk of infection. “We are only a few hours away, if we ride hard. Once we cross the river, the field will end at the mountains.” So close. To a home she did not want.

“Then we had best ride before it becomes too late in the day.”

A few more food items were all they had time to dedicate to the field. Faramir was meticulous in making sure that everything that was removed from the horses was not only picked up, but secured to his own horse. Mayweather, who did not stray far, was unloaded of a bulk the satchels, which were moved with the rest of the things.

“How soon until we see the keep?” you asked as he adjusted the saddle of your horse. He worked with gentleness. Mayweather did not seem to mind as he brushed along her neck.

“Once we cross the river, the mountains give way enough to see the spire.” He took a few steps towards you. “Are you ready, my Lady?”

“Y/N,” you reminded him. Faramir gave a strained smile with the reminder. And your heart raced with it. “Is it time, then? So soon?” But it was half-hearted. You took a deep breath, and held up a hand, another clutching at your side, and gritted your teeth. “When you are ready, sir.”

He let you brace yourself a moment more, before he gripped your hand with one of his own, and then used the other to grab your forearm. You took one sharp breath, and then he was pulling you to your feet. You stifled a cry, and squeezed your eyes shut once you were upright. And then there was absolute stillness.

“Forgive me,” Faramir said softly. “Are you okay?”

“Once I get onto the horse, I’m afraid you will need to check my binds,” you spoke with forced calm. “I feel as though I am not quite alright, but am too afraid to look at the moment. And the horse is always the worst part.” Because it required him lifting her and use of the very side that she was certain she would always have pain in until she could no longer walk.

“I’ll give you a moment to gain your bearings. Can you stand on your own while I get Mayweather?”

You could. You felt you could, at any rate. You waited for him to return, your horse seeming to realize that being skittish when you were mounting would not do. Sometimes you marveled at the intuitive nature of creatures of less intelligence than man. Now, however, was not that time. Now you were trying to think of another way to mount without harm to Mayweather.

But none came to mind.

“Y/N?”

You opened your eyes, to see the concerned bright eyes of Faramir watching you. You managed a brief smile of reassurance. “Ready.” You took the same position as it took to get up from the ground, one hand at your side, and then your other gripped the front of the saddle. You took a breath, and then another. “Now, Faramir.” He used his well-crafted strength to place a hand under one thigh, and the other to your other side. It would be such an improper grip if this had been anywhere else. But here, in the middle of the fields, familiarity was unguarded.

You cried out before you could help it, as you were placed onto the saddle. And Faramir’s grip did not leave you until your eyes opened. It felt as if your skin had ripped, though you couldn’t say for certain what that felt like. But it was the image that came to your mind with the pain that coursed up your side.

“Y/N?” he said quietly. “May I check the binds?” You nodded at once, and moved your hand away. Your palm was covered in blood, and as Faramir lifted your arm enough for him to see, you saw the grimace on his face before he masked it. “It has broken the seal, but we do not have time to rebind. Nor the supplies.” It would have to do, was what he seemed to say. His hand fell away from the tatters of your side.

Before it could go out of reach, you grabbed it tightly, squeezing it. “I hope your father has half the heart that you do.” Faramir’s eyes jumped up to yours and you saw emotion that you yourself had been forcing down. Emotion that made your chest hurt almost as much as your side. His eyes dropped quickly to your hand, still holding his, and he swallowed. “Forgive me,” you said, clearing your throat. “For speaking out of turn.”

“Any speech is welcome speech.” The words, thrown back to you, made a breath of surprise leave you. But when Faramir’s eyes met yours once more, the emotion was gone. The soldier was back. “I am sorry, that I am the one that has to deliver you to a place that you will never see as your home.” Even if the emotion was not in his face, it was in his voice. A thickness of despair that made your hand clench on his own, in comfort. Perhaps you imagined it, but you could feel his hand grip yours back.

“At least you understand me, Faramir, and that… above all else… is what I want in a place that I am foreign to. Someone that understands what it is like to be caged by expectation, that can never be achieved… yet with a heart to fly free.” Maybe it was too bold.

“We had best ride.” Too bold. But you did not release his hand, and he did not pull away, though your grip had loosened enough that he could.

“Can I ask one more thing of you?” You gave a wry smile. “From a list of never-ending things you’ve done already?”

“Anything.” Such a promise was massive. And you hoped that your request was not too great.

But the journey alone had been almost fatal. And… to send him back… “Forgive me,” you said, releasing his hand and dropping your gaze to the saddle. “It’s nothing, I should not even-“

“Ask it,” Faramir interrupted, and bold himself, his hand came to your own, lacing your fingers together. “It is yours.”

Your head pounded just as much as your heart. “Do not let me die in Minas Tirith.” The words were whispered, with weeks of fear buried within each syllable. “And if I were to die… I wish to be buried with my family in the Northern Keep… if such a thing is possible.”

There was silence, and then Faramir spoke, his voice understanding – his voice soft. His eyes held yours with honor, and promise. “I will do my best to honor that wish.” It was an exceptionally large promise. One that … that carried so much within in. But you had to trust him to keep his word. You couldn’t do anything else. You released his hand.

“Thank you, Faramir.”

“Of course.” He held your gaze a moment longer. “Are you well enough to ride?”

“I will have to be,” you said quietly. “We best not delay.” And so you did not. Faramir gathered himself onto the saddle behind you, on arm flush around your waist, to keep your bouncing as the horses rode to a minimum. But it allowed you to feel the heat of his breath on your neck, and smell the leather of his armor – it was too close.

But you would not have him any farther from you – not if your heart could ever decide.

You wanted him even closer.

You reasoned that it was because he was kind, because there was no other with you in these last few weeks – that there was no one to chaperone your interaction, and to keep your boldness in check. You reasoned that what you felt was not real, but the result of loneliness.

You had to reason such things. He was not yours to love. He could never be yours to love.


	9. Greatest Things

The spire was white. It was the first thing you noticed as the horse crossed the river and you fought to keep your eyes open. It was not from lack of sleep, but simply that you felt so incredibly tired you did not think you’d be able to stay awake another moment.

But you fought to.

You did not expect the spire to be white. Grey, like the spire in the Northern Keep, most definitely. But the white was so bright, and it seemed to sparkle in the sunlight, that you couldn’t really tell the natural stone from the real stone. It all seemed to be imported from some other land. The mountain behind it was a dark gray, almost black, color.

It made no sense.

But you could not deny, that it was very pretty. If cities could be pretty.

“We are almost there,” Faramir said to you, his arm tightening. You felt the horse go even faster under you. “Just a few more miles.”

A few more miles meant an hour, maybe two. Maybe more. You did not know if you could stay awake that long. You hadn’t looked at your side since dawnlight, and you wondered how much blood seeped down your dress, onto the horse and into the grassy field.

The horse rode on.

You did not remember the journey to the gates, just that your eyes closed somewhere before that point, and horns blowing caused you to gasp awake. Faramir was riding harder still. And the doors were opening. The guards seemed to recognize the two of you.

Or rather, recognize Faramir. For when the gates opened, there was no delay in Faramir’s words. “A healer. Immediately. Uruk-Hai some forty miles back,” Faramir was saying shortly. “Send the call.” Faramir did not dismount, merely turning Mayweather around to say the short message, and as the horns began to blow with a “Yes, Captain,” Mayweather was being directed towards a hill. A hill that would need to be climbed to the very top to get to the castle.

It was how the Keep was, as well. Safety precautions.

“Almost there,” Faramir was saying softly. You felt your eyes slowly slip shut.

You had made it to Minas Tirith. You were safe here. Now, you could rest.

Mayweather came to a sharp halt at the entrance hall, as a result of Faramir pulling on the reigns sharply. And then Faramir was sliding down, off of the saddle, his arms tugging at you, until you followed. Only, he did not set you down, on your feet. Instead, he held you against his chest, one arm under your legs, and another under your ribs, as he walked quickly, shifting your weight onto his chest as he carried you through the doors into the Entrance Hall.

Healers were already ready, rushing through the back doors just as that moment. Faramir set you on the ground, releasing a breath as they began to check the wound, cutting the cheesecloth away, and carefully peeling the leather from her skin. It stuck, tugging at her flesh, but came away, exposing the ghastly sight of your wound.

It was death like, and looked as though it was infected.

“What is the meaning of this!?” Father. Faramir swallowed, stepping around you, and towards his father, standing from his throne with anger. Anger and confusion.

“Uruk-Hai overcame Lady Y/N and I in the forests three days journey from here. In her attempt to flee south, towards Minas Tirith while I battled, one was waiting in the wood for her.” Faramir exhaled, swaying slightly on his feet. “I rode as fast as I could, but we could not make such distances up overnight with only two horses.”

“Heal her!” Denethor thundered. “Get her to the infirmary, so she is not bleeding all over the damned floor. And then someone tell me if the blasted Uruk-Hai have followed this idiotic boy to our gates.” Faramir swallowed back a retort.

“Brother,” Boromir said quietly. “You are hurt.” It was not a question. Faramir glanced down to his arm, to the wound that had bled too much for just a minor flesh wound. But had not been the priority. Soon, it had stopped bleeding on its own. But the pain, and the dizziness did not vanish.

“It’s just a flesh wound-“

“Brother, it is not just your arm. Your leg-“ His leg? Faramir glanced down more, to see the deep crimson soaking his leg. Oddly, he did not even notice that. But there was a wound there as well, not as deep as the one on his arm, but enough to be cause for concern. Faramir had merely thought he had pulled something in his leg during the battle, after all those weeks sitting stiffly on a horse. He did not even think… How odd.

“Heal the boy. He may be a fool for being seen by Uruk-Hai, but he still fulfilled his mission.” It would be as close of praise as Faramir had ever gotten. Already, your presence was cheering father up – though it was a bitter thought that Faramir knew had not much merit.

Denethor would never change. “Come, brother, I will take you to the infirmary.” Boromir put his arm under Faramir’s shoulder, and Faramir took some weight off of the leg that was injured.

“I can walk, Boromir. I have made it this far on my feet-“

But Boromir did not relent, assisting Faramir down the hall, and just before the doors shut, his gaze darted back to the floor, where you lay, unconscious as healers did their work. Denethor had not moved from the throne.

“How did this happen?”

“Everything was fine,” Faramir said quietly, wincing as they made a sudden turn. “We were on the safe path, and the horses spooked. They heard them before we did – laying in wait for us, as if they knew we were coming. Lady Y/N’s father had given us a cart full of provisions, her things… we dropped them before they could get too close. I told her to ride for the city, to stay on the path, and she’d find it if she rode hard. But they were waiting for her farther ahead. So she came back to me, but I had already started to fight-“

“I see… and the beasts attacked her?”

“Not until she ran in another direction, hoping to maneuver around. I heard her scream, but I could not get to her … she killed the Uruk-Hai herself, with a dagger. She stared it in the face and killed it to save her own life. Not even soldiers I have fought with would have such gall-“

Boromir said nothing until he pushed open doors to a healing bay and eased his brother onto a cot. The room was vacant, due to the trained nurses dealing with you in the Hall. But Boromir was just as trained as Faramir in battlefield aid. He tore at the fabric on Faramir’s leg, inspecting the wound, before finding some cloth and alcohol for the time being, to clean. “What is she like?”

“Too good for father,” Faramir said quietly. He hissed a breath as the alcohol came in contact with the wound. “But we both knew that would be the case before I even left Minas Tirith in the first place. She was to be Queen, in the Northern Keep. In name, a Lady in actuality.”

Boromir glanced up in surprise. “She is an only child?”

“No, she is the eldest, and only daughter, to a large group of brothers. Her father trained her since her youth… It is so odd, I know, brother. But she has been groomed to be a Queen, so she is not meant to be a Steward’s wife. Younger than even I.” Boromir’s mouth set to a hard line with that, a frown he did not bother to conceal well. The dark thoughts of Denethor that caused them did not bother to be concealed. Not amongst each other. “But she is stubborn, and resilient.”

“Her wound… Faramir, it already looked infected-“

“She will survive. She will fight. She will not die here. I have promised her that.”

“You should not have promised her such things. She is to be a Lady of Gondor,” Boromir said quietly, under his breath, as he worked, wrapping the cloth around Faramir’s leg. But the quiet tone was a signal that Faramir was being too loud. The doors did not keep out voices as they did in other parts of the castle. “Do not grow so attached to her, she is not yours to marry.”

Faramir swallowed, glancing away from Boromir. But the brother was done, and noticed. As Faramir’s leg fell to the cot, Boromir exhaled. “She is not cattle to be bought and sold to the highest bidder, to whoever stakes claim over her because of power.”

“Faramir,” Boromir warned lightly. Faramir swallowed. He knew. “She is to be our step-mother.” Faramir knew that too.

“She is younger than I, Boromir. Do you not think that father’s cruelty knows no bounds? You know what he wants her for, now that Gandalf has come around with whispers of a war. You know what he intends to use her for. She knows as well. I did not make it a secret. I could not lead her here blind-“

“I have faith that she will be treated well,” Boromir interrupted.

“Faith,” Faramir snorted. He met Boromir’s eyes. “I hope that faith is not with you when you pray for her recovery. Because that faith is meaningless.”

Boromir’s eyes betrayed how his brother’s words affected him. Faramir had never spoken like that before, had never said such a thing against him, or their father, so boldly. “You know she is going to be kept with a high standard-“

“She is a Queen in her home. Loved and respected by her own family. Treated as an equal in strength and knowledge. She has been raised to take the throne over all over her brothers – she has been the one to rule her land. Can father offer her that? Can he promise her happiness? Can father promise her what you believe him to?”

Boromir could not answer.

“She is the greatest thing I have seen on this earth.” Faramir clenched his jaw. “I have already broken my own vows and gotten too close to her. I knew… I knew just upon seeing her that I could never keep such a promise, made in the middle of the fields, halfway to the Keep. Help me, brother. Help me forget her.” The last few words were desperate, a plea for his elder brother to help him because he did not know how to do it himself. Boromir always knew.

But as his brother answered, Faramir’s hope vanished. “If she is the greatest thing on this earth, then nothing will let you forget her.”


End file.
